Quality Time
by SurferSquid
Summary: Because clearly, escaping an exploding battle station is the perfect time for father-son bonding.


Palpatine is dead, the Empire has fallen, and on a disintegrating Death Star, two bedraggled men are making their way to the nearest docking bay. One, a former Sith and a former Jedi—the other a Jedi like his father before him.

"You're not going to try to carry me, are you?" the Force-wielder formerly known as Darth Vader says, hanging off of his son's shoulders.

"I can do it," Luke insists.

"You do realize that I'm heavier than an all-organic Human my size, right? It would be like trying to carry your protocol droid."

Luke frowns and shifts his weight, trying to alleviate Anakin from the burden of his own body. "I'll be fine if I use the Force."

Anakin sighs and motions with his chin to an open door. "Let's just sit down a minute and take a breather."

"The Rebels will reach the main reactor any second now," Luke says, but he hauls his father through the door anyway.

On the other side is an abandoned officer's quarters. A potted plant sits in one corner, blithely unaware of its impending fiery doom. On a table beside the couch is a holo of a man with his wife and three children. Luke eyes it as he eases Anakin and himself onto the sofa. The family looks so happy to be together. As if it were that way for all families.

Luke lets out a long, ragged sigh, letting himself relax for the first time that day. "Well, that was fun," he mutters.

Anakin's breathing is equally labored, although for different reasons. "I was worried I would never see you again."

"But the Force always told you otherwise," Luke says. "I mean, it told me."

"The Force-user in me wasn't worried. The father was." Anakin turns his soulless, dispassionate helmet-mask to look over his son. "I never got to see you grow up."

Luke shrugs. "And Aunt Beru never took any holos. Sorry about that."

With his remaining hand, Anakin reaches up to ruffle Luke's tawny hair. "I'll bet you looked a lot like me when I was a kid. Sand in your hair, sun in your eyes, always running around finding things to build—or take apart."

Luke thinks for a moment and smiles. "I was always more interested in speed, I think. Once when I was seven I took Uncle Owen's speeder for a joyride. Man, was he ever steamed when I crashed it into his brand new vaporator array!"

Anakin laughs. "Atta boy! And look at you now, ace starfighter!" As Luke puffs out his chest proudly, Anakin says, "Did you know I used to podrace?"

Luke's eyes widen. "You serious? That's sport's been banned for over twenty years!"

"I raced on Tatooine," Anakin says, the smirk evident in his voice. "And before the ban, anyway. Although I'm sure your old man's still got what it takes." He fists his hands in front of him, as though he can still feel the control handles he gripped so confidently when he was nine.

"I'd love to see that!" Luke says with a chortle. He looks back over to the holo on the table, inspects those happy faces, and grows quieter. "What was Mom like?"

Anakin looks at him for a long while, then turns away, staring out at the empty hallway. They are probably the last ones left on this level. "She was… the most beautiful woman in the universe."

Luke resists an eye-roll. "Okay, but what was she _like?_ "

Anakin glances back over at him. "Leia reminds me a lot of her, and not just in the looks department. Although Leia's far more of a firebrand than your mother generally was." Suddenly a wave of sadness washes over him, so profound that Luke can feel it reverberate through the Force. "I miss her."

Luke puts a hand on his father's knee. "I'm sorry."

Anakin takes his son's hand and squeezes it. "Well, at least I have you and your sister." He pauses. "So, uh… you seeing anyone? I'd love some grandkids."

"I've kind of been in the middle of a war, Dad," Luke reminds him.

"But you can't tell me you're not popular with the ladies." Anakin pinches his son's cheek. "You do take after me. For some reason I'm seeing you with a redhead. Keep an eye out for one, okay?"

Luke blushes. "Is that a Force vision or father's intuition?"

"A little of both, maybe." He holds up his other arm, a sparking stump where one of his mechanical hands used to be. "Look—twinners!"

Grinning sardonically, Luke holds up his own bionic hand. "Hah," he snorts. "High five?" He pretends to slap his hand against Anakin's lack thereof, and the two laugh.

"We really should have done this sooner," Anakin says.

"You mean like when you had me dangling above an air shaft on Bespin?"

"Yes, that would have been an opportune time."

The room shudders. A deep, ominous rumble thuds through the station's infrastructure, making both men's skin prickle. "That'd be the Rebels," Luke murmurs. He stands up from the couch and offers a hand to his father.

Anakin takes it and tries to push himself to his feet, but proves too weak. Luke pulls the Force around him and lifts the dying cyborg into his arms.

"Are you sure I'm not too heavy?" Anakin asks. Now regular tremors shake the floor, lights short out, and the smell of burning oil and leaking oxygen begins to waft through the halls.

"You're not heavy," Luke says. "You're my dad."

Anakin dangles an arm around his son's neck. "Luke… I'm glad we did this."

"Me too, Dad. Hang in there. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

The shuttle hangar comes into view and Anakin's labored breathing slows.


End file.
